Monday, August 31, 2009

Well, to be honest, you may be missing me a bit longer. My body is back in the Real World, but much of my brain is still back at Camp. I have a feeling it may stay that way for awhile, much as it did after Uganda, or last Summer's travel bonanza.

In the mean time, what little mental capacity I was able to stow in my somehow-15-lbs-overweight-luggage will be dedicated to:

Training and raising money for the Avon Walk. (Click the link and give me money! Thousands of women will thank you!).

Preparing for an interview/audition for a teaching position so I can do as little waitressing as possible.

Looking for more teaching work, for the same reason.

Convincing my Rep Company to do the original musical that premiered at Camp this summer because I'm in love with it and desperately want to be in it.

Finally unpacking (and finishing painting) my apartment.

Figuring out how on earth I'm going to pay all the bills that are waiting for me.

Oh... and seeing The Boy again. In an attempt at maturity, I've decided to call him DM, which is close enough to his name to not feel like a silly (and therefore distancing) nickname, but still different enough to maintain anonymity.

Clearly, even the smallest part of my brain is prone to overthinking things. Good grief.

[WARNING: Non-Sequitur Ahead]

I wish the sun was out today. I feel that the best way to reconnect with my life here in the city is just to go wandering, but nobody wants to wander when it's grey and gloomy.

[Okay, okay, LOTS of non-sequiturs]

There are not words to express how much I am enjoying my cup of coffee this morning. As wonderful as life at Camp was, the coffee was barely a step above (and perhaps even a step below) dishwater. Dirty dishwater. In other words... it was foul.

Although I had been greatly looking forward to sleeping in my own bed, with no company other than my cat, I also found it extraordinarily difficult to get myself out of bed this morning without twelve noisy girls and the impending threat of a trumpet call to urge me to do so. Even after 10+ hours of sleep.

Apparently, The Granddaddy of All Roaches made a return visit to the apartment while I was gone. Gracie held him at bay while my housesitter first panicked, and then attacked him with Raid. The Great Foe has been vanquished. Fingers crossed that he is not followed by reinforcements.

Yesterday after a morning of bidding farewell to campers, cleaning up, and striking all the lights in the theatre, I frantically (and not very neatly) packed my bags and threw them into the minivan of the counselor driving me to the airport. I was still in my stripy pajama pants, my hair in two messy buns, my glasses slightly askew. I checked in for my flight and made my way through security to my gate... where I was selected for a random pat-down before being allowed to board my flight. When I got to JFK, I discovered that my just-barely-closed luggage had been inspected (and very poorly re-packed) by the TSA. As I stood in the massive taxi queue with a 60 lb pack strapped to my back, a rainbow yoga mat, a woven purse from Peru, and a flowered laundry bag full of all the things that wouldn't fit in my pack dangling from my hand, all I could wonder was... since when does Hippy = Terrorist?

I'll leave you to ponder that while I head off to shower, face the world, and perhaps even straighten my hair for the first time in over a month.

And browse Craigslist for a free hair colour appointment because my roots are appallingly long.

Hey there Real World, long time no see. Do me a favour and take it easy on me, 'kay?